


before you even said it, i could feel it in your touch

by honeysnaps



Series: Soulmates & Signs [1]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:30:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeysnaps/pseuds/honeysnaps
Summary: Calum's body buzzes again and turns, the back of his neck is hot and he swears he can feel every ounce of blood rushing through his body. He hears his heartbeat in his ears and feels it in his chest and wrist and neck and ponders the probability of his pulse points coming alive, because that’s what it feels like. His body is responding to something, taking on a life of its own as he stumbles through a throng of people, pushing and nudging as best he can.His mind promises himself he’s not on fire but his heart is not so sure. Not when every nerve ending is lit up and smoldering. His mind wants his eyes to be playing tricks on him but his soul knows they’re not, he focuses in on triangles on soft wrists wrapped around necks and wishes the heavens above would split open and wash away the fire in his body with rain.or; the mashlum soulmate au no one asked for





	before you even said it, i could feel it in your touch

**Author's Note:**

> My first post in... how long?  
> Too long.  
> Enjoy <3
> 
> (Title from the song "Hand On Mine" by Megan & Liz)

Rushing through the crowded sidewalks Michael finds himself stumbling over his own feet. He’s a bundle of nerves, firecrackers bursting in his bloodstream as he opens the café doors. He’s late. But a gracious smile greets him, honey gold curls slicked back. Michael feels an instant calm as he approaches the table and Ashton stands to greet him. Michael finds he is even more beautiful in person and though he very easily could be intimidated he realizes that he’s not.

They sit and talk comes easily. Michael thanks his lucky stars and mentally reminds himself to also thank their mutual friend Luke for the set up. His hands mindlessly fidget, warm skin on the inner part of his wrist tingling for no apparent reason. Speakers play throwback songs that reminds Michael of his childhood and the more he talks with Ashton the more it feels as though he’s known him his entire life.

Michael makes Ashton laugh, the sound reminiscent of all that is good in the world. Yellow daisies bloom outside the picture window they sit parallel to. In the back of Michael’s mind he has the ever present question ringing, the one question most everyone in the world thinks when meeting new people. Is this the one? Michael worries at his lower lip as that thought stays present, but as they continue to talk and laugh and Ashton’s eyes never venture too far away from Michael’s own for too long, Michael eases back into comfortability.

The waiter approaches and Michael realizes they haven’t even cracked their menus yet. Ashton requests more time yet does not even glance at the menu sat on the edge of the table. He waves his hand in the air and smiles as if to say ‘no worries’. Michael smiles because Ashton did first and he starts to realize it feels like instincts, he feels easy like a summer breeze, gentle. Yet all the same he can feel rushes of excitement exploding through his chest, summer night skies fill with fireworks and blazing flames of bonfires sit between them.

When they finally do reach for their menus their hands brush and the warmth on Michael’s wrist explodes into an inferno. He sees two black lines take form on his wrist, a matching set on Ashton’s and everything makes sense. Their skin is inked with matching arrows that point toward each other. Michael is elated. There's nothing to describe the feeling of fluttering in his chest or the way Ashton's hazel eyes gleam with promises and highlights of the sun.

“I had a feeling,” Ashton says, grin split from ear to ear.

“I was hoping,” Michael responds and lets his hand be enveloped by Ashton’s. His wrist is now calm, the heat vanishing with Ashton’s second touch but his heart rate picks up and skips a beat as if to let Michael know that his search for home is over.

They leave the café before they even order. Sunlight spills down onto them and Michael lets his fingers trace over the arrow tattooed on his wrist. One movement leads to Michael closing the arrow as he traces along. It feels more complete that way.

**< < >>**

Calum’s back presses to a brick wall and his hands shake as he reaches for another cigarette. He lets his head softly fall back. Eyes gaze up at shadowy corners of the buildings around him. His right hand went numb hours ago, a slow burning ache builds up in his chest but he pays it no mind. He lights up one more time, taking a slow drag and exhaling the pain away. He knows this habit is bad for him, and yet, just like toxic people and relationships, he can’t seem to kick it. And the one time he tried, he missed it so damn much. He flicks the cigarette away from him and stomps it out before sighing and pushing away from the wall. He had left the diner minutes ago, needing an escape from staring down the empty side of the booth. Moreover, needing an escape from the pity in the waiter’s eyes as he continually came over to refill his drink.

As he walks back his hand begins to twitch. The face of a clock tattooed on his skin tingling as he sits back down and folds his hands together, elbows atop the laminate table. Calum bites his lip as he continues to wait, jukebox music that vibes with the sixties themed yellow diner spills out into the atmosphere. Everything around Calum is cheerful. And yet, everything inside of Calum is screaming that it’s all _wrong._ His stomach turns as he hears the bell on the door ding. Eyes shoot up quickly as his stomach sinks, heart faltering in its beats for just a moment. She’s wearing an expression that is nearly unreadable. Though at the least Calum can tell she is not happy to see him. He kicks back his apprehension and greets her. The once comfortable and loving embrace they would have shared is cut to a quick ‘hello’ and a cleared throat. Calum tries his best to smile as she sits. She does not.

Neither one speaks. Calum fears there are no words that can be said. His throats burns, for once he is grateful his water glass has not run dry. He gulps down half the glass and nearly chokes as he tries to break the silence settled on them. He cannot bear to do it. Another moment passes and Calum’s right hand yearns to reach across the table to take hers. But he does not act on it.

“Calum,” she finally speaks, his name cool on her red lips.

Calum’s hands drop to the table and his façade of carelessness breaks, fragile glass heart cracking. He has not seen or heard from his soulmate in days and now she sits across from him, as distant as ever. Calum swears it’s not a table separating them, he sees a cavern—darkness swallowing his senses. Blinking it back he finds her, sees her, and for the first time he knows her to be a stranger. Her summer freckled face looks foreign, the faded t-shirt he knows to be his that she stole so long ago isn’t a reminder of affection—it now feels like theft. It takes three instances for Calum to _know_.

The first touch of their hands on the afternoon she strolls in late.

Tattoo fading, glass heart breaking.

The second she says ‘sorry’, unconvincingly, eyes avoiding his at all costs.

Black lines fading into silver on tan skin.

Three birds on her right hand circling, replacing the matching face of a clock they once shared.

He knows it is goodbye in that moment.

She robs him blind of one of the only things in life that was supposed to be promised. He leaves the diner without a soulmate. Seeing an endless cavern. Searching for light though he’s not certain he still believes in the sun.

**< < >>**

Five months and some odd days pass before Michael’s eyes. Each day he grows closer with Ashton, the arrow on his wrist pointing him towards love and fulfillment. Night breaks around them as they walk back from the park one evening, hands held and steps stagger as they walk. Michael can still taste Ashton on his lips and he much prefers life to taste this way. Red mints and honey are a strange mixture but have a certain allure to them when coming from Ashton’s mouth. Spring is in the air and snow is melting steadily. Puddles of melting ice splash under their feet and Michael is sure flowers are readying to bloom. The air is crisp and they both tug their jackets closer around them, their bodies pressing just a bit closer as well.

Michael has been riding the high of finding his soulmate since their hands first brushed. He lets himself trace his tattoo over and over, and while it is the most intimate and meaningful part of his body he can’t help but feel as if something isn’t quite right. At least not yet, anyway. He can’t figure out why it feels as if a piece is missing. He knows he’s home. Except it feels like hallowed halls from time to time. Ashton is everything he could ever want in a soulmate and then some. He has yet to work up the nerve to explain his conflicting feelings to Ashton, not wanting to make it seem as though he alone is not enough. Michael thinks it’s foolish, it has to be.

They trek back to Ashton’s place and stumble through the door with only one thing on their minds. All feelings of void evade Michael in place of the hands on his hips that tug him closer. Ashton kisses Michael and Michael kisses back just as fervently, his shoulders shrugging back to ensure his denim jacket falls to the floor in a heap along with Ashton’s leather jacket. Lips explore and hands roam and tug at articles of clothing that only get in the way. They don’t make it to the bedroom that night, instead they fall into the plush couch and explore a new side to each other.

Their souls are connected, it only makes sense that their bodies are nearly hardwired into each other’s pleasure. Michael can’t remember the last time he ever felt so good post sex because the lurid haze that hangs over him makes him temporarily forget the last time they had sex. Though he might argue that each time gets better. They eventually retire to the bedroom where Ashton pulls Michael in close, knowing he loves intimacy on all fronts. Once more he reminds himself it’s foolish to feel any ounce of emptiness.

Except in that very moment when Ashton sighs and Michael senses a slight of discontent.

“Everything okay?” Michael asks, stomach dropping.

Ashton looks down at him quickly and caught off guard. Michael thinks Ashton must not have meant for him to hear it. Ashton lifts one corner of his mouth in a feeble attempt at a smirk and puffs out another breath, this time it speaks of relief and Michael quickly becomes confused.

“Do you ever feel like _something_ in your life is just _not there_?” Ashton finally breaks after a bleated silence. Michael keeps his eyes on Ashton, trailing from his gaze down to his hands, one finger lightly tracing his tattoo and completing it as a triangle as Michael is so apt to also do.

Michael doesn’t realize that Ashton also completes the arrow as a triangle anytime his fingers trail along it. But then it clicks and he faintly remembers Ashton’s fingers completing the tattoo on his own skin, as if a ghost of a touch.

“Maybe there is,” Michael mumbles in response to Ashton’s question.

Ashton nods. “I was hoping you felt that way too.”

Though the words seem bleak, hoping for Michael to feel as though something is missing in his life he understands why Ashton said them. Michael’s heart and soul floods with relief as he realizes he’s not alone. Ashton didn’t want to feel alone in his emptiness either.

**< < >>**

Calum goes through his house, piling up anything that doesn’t belong to him anymore. Anything with a trace of her gets thrown into a box. Hair dye, red lipstick, pink toothbrush, books and pins and anything that vaguely reminds him of her. Magnets with destinations they’d never gotten to, mangos that reminds him of her lip balm, albums with songs she loves. He’s doing his best to make her disappear from his life and he’s hell bent on literally achieving it until he realizes the silver on his wrist will never go away. He doesn’t know why he’s been cursed with ink that seeps permanently into his skin for a person who turned out to be temporary.

He finds it all ironic for a moment. Their tattoos had been clocks and at the beginning he thought that meant they had all the time in the world. And yet here he stands, rifling through everything in the house that could ever be attached to her because their time had run out. He kicks himself mentally for not knowing. He should have known. He should have kept his guard up just like for everyone else in his life.

As he combs through the rest of their intermingled things he curses and thinks that this must all be some sort of cosmic joke. He wants a smoke, he yearns for it to fills his lungs and tumble out of his lips and erase all his worries. Though he knows that too would only be temporary. Instead he continues on with renewed vigor. It’s easier to be mad at her than to be mad at some invisible force that bestows marks on skin and apparently also fades them. Justifying his anger he sees red as he thinks of all the time she spent away from him that led them to their untimely demise. If she had just stayed he might not want her gone.

He boxes up the rest of her things and leaves it outside the door for her to pick up if she ever cares to come back for it. He has a feeling it will sit there for quite a while. He plops onto his couch and feels the loneliness settle in. Calum reaches for the vodka bottle he had been nursing while packing and takes a swig. It burns down his throat but he’s grateful for the feeling. He was beginning to wonder if the only thing he might ever feel again is anger.

Calum sets the vodka back on the coffee table and licks his lips, taking one moment to decide what it is he wants. In a swift movement he’s off the couch and out the door, standing on the porch with the box of her things in his arms one last time. He takes a deep breath as he walks to the trash cans on the curb and discards it. He wants every part of her gone—no _needs_ —every part of her gone from his home, she does not belong here anymore. Calum wonders if maybe he doesn’t belong either.

**< < >>**

Michael and Ashton enter their café, because yes, after over half a year they had dubbed it as theirs. They met there, they continued to go there nearly every week after. Their booth in the back is vacant as always and Michael likes to pretend that it’s the universes way of saying this really is their place. And Ashton likes to tell him there’s no need to pretend that when all signs point to the universe at work. Ashton’s hand is warm in Michael’s and as they take their seats on their respective sides of the booth, they do not let loose of each other’s grips. They let their hands rest on the table top and they don’t even pretend to glance at the menus. They already know what they want.

**< < >>**

Calum is thankful to have escaped his mundane routine. He moved out of his house and away from the memories of her. He now focuses on writing while he waits tables at a local café. It’s not great money but it sustains him while he works towards what he really wants in life. Presumably the last customers of the day sit down at a table in the back and Calum gives them a moment to get settled before walking over. He takes a pen out from behind his ear that he had tucked there previously when he was writing in his journal and the café had been dead. He stands poised to take their order and as their voices break over him he can’t help but glance down.

Matching tattoos stain their skin and Calum can feel resentment rushing through his blood. He’s hot, he can feel his face burning and his mouth go dry. He nods automatically and writes robotically as they place their orders. As he all but stomps to the kitchen to put their orders in he feels something else tugging at him. His whole body is vibrating with a familiar feeling but his mind is too clouded with jealously to connect the lines.

As he lifts their plates to bring over to their booth he thinks to himself he needs to pull his act together. Smile. Be kind. Earn a tip. Don’t be jealous. Life isn’t fair but they did not make it that way. Forcing a smile Calum set theirs orders down and refills their water glasses, setting one down first without incident and fills the other one and pulls away only to accidentally bump into their still interlocked hands. He’s not sure how it happened, there was no reason for it. His hand felt compelled, almost as if he couldn’t control it.

“Sorry about that,” Calum says as nicely as possible and retreats quickly, feeling foolish.

**< < >>**

Michael is breathless as their waiter scurries away, eyes never breaking from the completed triangle on his and Ashton’s wrists. He shakes himself and looks up at Ashton who has gone slack jawed and wide eyed. Michael stands from the booth suddenly, nearly spilling the freshly filled water glasses. Before he can manage to get anything out of his mouth the waiter is safely behind the kitchen doors.

“Michael, sit down,” Ashton says gently and Michael obliges by slowly lowering himself.

“But he-he- that- it’s- see,” Michael stutters out and flails his wrist in Ashton’s face.

“I see,” Ashton says. “I see it on me too.”

“Do you think-“

“He has one to match?”

Michael nods curtly and cranes his neck to get a glimpse at the kitchen doors once more. They’ve stilled. Their waiter long gone.

“I assume he does, I’m just not sure he knows it yet.”

**< < >>**

He clocks out when the cook says she can handle the rest of the night, they both know fully well no one else will be traipsing through the doors at such an hour. Calum rips off his apron and tugs his sweatshirt on over his black long sleeve shirt. He gathers his wallet and black leather journal before exiting out the back of the building, glad to be away from soulmates and matching tattoos. He’s well into his walk and the night when he finally realizes the burning ache on his wrist.

For a moment he writes it off to ghost pain, when losing a limb patients still report feeling pain where it can no longer exist. He doesn’t see why it would not be the same for losing an entire person. Except the fire persists and shoots up his arm as if following the veins, taking all the twists and turns. Under lamplight Calum pulls his sleeve up and sees a brand new tattoo on his flesh.

**< < >>**

Michael and Ashton go back to the diner the day after their arrows turn to triangles, and all days after that. Each time they strike out on finding their fulfillment. Michael is nearly buzzing on the eighth day of trying. He can feel Ashton’s anticipation when they settle into their booths and scope out the wait staff. Quickly, Ashton’s anticipation turns to disappointment and Michael swallows a lump in his throat. Realistically he knows that he and Ashton are suited to be together no matter what life throws at them—challenges new and old, new soulmate or more specifically the lack of their new soulmate. They can live and love each other without another, but there will _always_ be just a tick of disappointment for that missing someone.

“Maybe he doesn’t even have the tattoo,” Michael theorizes to try and lull the mood. “Maybe he’s not a missing piece, maybe the added lines were meant for us and only us.”

Ashton puts on a brace face and Michael appreciates it. In the time that Michael has known Ashton, which admittedly feels as if it’s been their whole lives, he’s noted the strong front Ashton always puts up. He’s the rock wall and Michael’s the soft moss that seeps into his cracked edges.

“It’s possible. But why else would our tattoos have filled in at the exact moment his hand brushed ours?” Ashton rationalizes.

“Maybe-“ Michael begins to say but pauses because the words he hasn’t said yet already hurt him just to think. He does not want to hurt Ashton as well.

“Maybe what?”

 _You’re always honest with each other_ Michael thinks to himself before trudging on. He knows Ashton can handle the bite of the words but softens his tone nonetheless. “Maybe he doesn’t want soulmates.”

“Or he already has one,” Ashton finishes Michael’s thought with a dip in his voice and a far off look in his eyes.

**< < >>**

Calum quits his job the morning after the tattoo appears on his skin. He’s scared of what it means and the people who more than likely have matching triangles on their wrists. More so, he’s scared they will come back to the café and expect something of him when he’s not ready to give. As a week goes by he notes how the silver clock on his wrist looks less and less visible and the lines of the triangle seem to darken. Everything starts to blur together after staring at it all for so long. He knows deep down it’s not fair to who he assumes has the matching tattoos to completely check out and run away. Yet he can’t help himself.

Until one day his friend calls him up and calls him out on his erratic behavior. It wasn’t everyday he quit his job and gained a new soulmate tattoo. It wasn’t every week he locked himself in his downsized apartment and sat on the couch journaling mad thoughts and going through packs of smokes like they were going out of style. He’s getting an earful over the phone eight days after avoiding his fate and if only to appease his adamant friend he reluctantly agrees to go out that night.

“I’ll meet you there,” Calum agrees and as the voice on the other end of the line sounds dubious he finishes off with, “And if I don’t then you have my permission to come to my apartment and drag me there. Sound fair?”

He hangs up before an affirmation and throws on an old coat and musses his hair to what might be acceptable standards. He doesn’t feel great but he pushes past it and head out the door without a second thought.

**< < >>**

Drowning sorrows in alcohol had never been Michael’s forte—he was more of a celebrate his triumphs with alcohol guy—but after eight days of crushed hopes he finds the bottom of his shot glasses intriguing. Continually he downs more shots with hardly any time to breathe in between. Ashton’s not far behind his count, or possibly ahead of him, Michael’s too drunk to think, or is it ‘to drink to thunk’ he vaguely wonders. Shitty club music is pulsing around them and Michael is feeling the effects of the alcohol loosen him up, Ashton is swaying to the rhythm and soon enough his large hands grab for Michael’s belt loops and drags him on the dance floor.

**< < >>**

“What more do you want from me? I came out tonight didn’t I?” Calum asks his friend who only gives him a disapproving glare and slides another shot his way. He knows the ploy. His friend is getting him drunk to ensure he lightens up and has a good time. What his friend doesn’t know is that Calum has no objections to alcohol and will take whatever is given.

It doesn’t take too long for Calum’s buzz to kick in or for a redhead to pull him onto the dance floor. He doesn’t feel anything when her hand touches his, there is no fire in his veins or skipping heartbeats. She pushes into him and all he wants is to push away. He stays courteous in their dance, giving so little while she tries to take and take and take. He wants to scream at her that there is nothing he can give her. He had already tried that—he’d given down to his bare bones just to be with someone who left him for another in the end. He fears she took it all from him until his eyes catch a glimpse at the triangle on his wrist lit up by the strobe lights blaring around him.

He laughs in the middle of their dance and because she’s pushed herself so close to him she hears it. She turns her nose up at him as he continues to chuckle, she stalks off after a moment more of what must look like hysteria. A realization dawns upon him under the lights of a shitty club. She took more than he could give. He was given back more than he could have ever hoped for. But he had run away from it all. He had left the café, left _them_ and he hadn’t returned. He laughs now because he’s not so sure he deserves to be given anything after all.

His body buzzes again and turns, the back of his neck is hot and he swears he can feel every ounce of blood rushing through his body. He hears his heartbeat in his ears and feels it in his chest and wrist and neck and ponders the probability of his pulse points coming alive, because that’s what it feels like. His body is responding to something, taking on a life of its own as he stumbles through a throng of people, pushing and nudging as best he can.

His mind promises himself he’s not on fire but his heart is not so sure. Not when every nerve ending is lit up and smoldering. His mind wants his eyes to be playing tricks on him but his soul knows they’re not, he focuses in on triangles on soft wrists wrapped around necks and wishes the heavens above would split open and wash away the fire in his body with rain.

**< < >>**

Ashton breathes in Michael on the dance floor, their bodies pressed together to become as one as they can. His lips brush against Michael’s neck in the spot he knows drives him wild. His own body is rigid with excitement, Michael’s is soft and melting into Ashton’s. He lets his hands slip down to Michael’s ass and delights when Michael lets out an airy breath. He can feel it on his neck, can feel his heart beating harder and faster than ever before. He can hardly breathe. He feels alive and complete. He chokes and turns to look over Michael’s shoulder—never admitting it but rising slightly on his toes to get a better glance.

His heart stops, or beats too fast to feel, Ashton is not sure. He’s nudging Michael with a closed fist trying to get him to turn around. It doesn’t take much convincing because Ashton’s sure Michael is feeling the same heat and buzz and heartbeat as he is. Michael turns his head and they both see him in flashing lights. He’s standing a few yards away with an unsure expression. Ashton can feel in his bones that he’s the third to fill in the lines. Michael is moving closer to him and Ashton surely follows.

The music is too loud to speak over but Michael doesn’t find it hard to invade personal space to accomplish his feat. He’s introducing them Ashton realizes as he presses closer. He thinks he hears the other man say his name is Calum and Ashton’s heart takes off at light speed and knows that it’s right. That he’s right. Calum pushes a curl of his hair back and Ashton’s intuition proves right as he spots the tattoo and Michael shifts closer. Ashton loops around Michael’s back and comes to Calum’s other side.

No one speaks but all is understood. They all leave the club together high on one another. They make it to Ashton’s place—it being the closest of them all—and slam the door shut on the outside world. It’s just the three of them and Ashton understands that it was _always meant to be this way._ He was not missing something when he was with Michael, he was missing something with Michael. And that is Calum. They’re all still warm from the inside out and Ashton’s not sure he ever wants to be extinguished. This might just be heaven on earth.

**< < >>**

Calum’s body hums and his heart settles into a peaceful rhythm as sunlight he will never forget streams in the windows past sheer curtains. He’s burrowed beneath sheets, bare skin on silk and legs entangled with four others. His arm sprawls out, wrist barren aside from the triangle that he hopes will _always_ be there. Last night had been like no other. He had never felt the way Ashton and Michael had made him feel with _her._

That morning, with unjaded eyes Calum is almost thankful for it all. He learned to love and to give and to not give up on himself. He knows it will take time to fully commit and trust again, trust them, trust the universe, trust whatever sort of fate may be laid out for him. But when Ashton presses his chest closer into Calum’s back and Michael lets out a soft moan on the other side of him, he thinks that maybe it won’t be so bad to try again.

He bites his lower lip and sinks further into the sheets. He places his cheek on Michael’s shoulder and lets his hand rest on Ashtons, lazily tracing over his tattoo and smiling to himself. As he lays there he thinks back to six months ago. Thinks back to a time when he wasn’t sure he believed in the sun and recognizes how foolish it was. Michael and Ashton may not be the sun but they keep him warm and that’s all that Calum can ask for.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2...?  
> Possibly.


End file.
